


Spring Fever

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Canon Era, Jedams, M/M, Sickfic, Whump, i accidentally skipped class to write this oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: John gets sick and Thomas takes on the role of dutiful and caring friend. He soon comes to regret that.





	Spring Fever

     That morning had been exceptionally quiet, Thomas realized, an alien sort of calmness blanketing the statehouse. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what had caused it, but the room was full of nothing but quiet voices intermingled with the sounds of birds singing through the opened windows. It was just barely Spring, and the weather was finally at that point where it wasn’t too cold, nor unbearably hot. Of course, everyone knew the unbearable heat would begin to settle in in a matter of weeks, but they’d unanimously decided to ignore it, instead blissfully enjoying the fleeting moment of good weather. 

     Thomas had looked up from his book for the first time that morning, his gaze traveling around the various faces in the room. It was only when his gaze lingered on the table in the back corner, farthest from his favorite window, that he realized the reason for the unnatural quiet. The usual loudest man in the room was collapsed over his desk, his head buried in his arms in a way that made Thomas’s eyebrows furrow in concern. If it weren’t for the erratic rising and falling of his back and shoulders, Thomas would have thought the man was dead. He chewed on his lip as he slipped silently down from the window and across the room, folding down the corner of a page in his book and closing it, slipping it into his pocket. He stood quietly for a moment before the Massachusetts delegation table, staring down at the man who hadn’t seemed to notice his presence. He slowly laid a hand to rest on the man’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the soft, chestnut brown fabric of his coat. 

     “John,” he said quietly, his voice nearly a whisper. Slowly, he felt stirring under the palm of his hand and the head of raven hair moved, picking itself up from his arms. Thomas immediately winced at seeing him; he looked horribly pale, except for the scarlet flush of warmth across his cheeks, and his eyes were glassy and dull. He seemed to just barely be trembling. Thomas’s eyebrows shot up in concern, but John simply stared up at him in exhausted indifference. 

  
     “Thomas,” John replied, in such a hoarse voice that it made Thomas cringe. John also winced, most likely from the pain of speaking, and closed his eyes with a shudder. Thomas swallowed, immediately overwhelmed with concern for the other man. He slowly pulled a chair from behind him and sat down, his hand not moving from John’s shoulder and his eyes not moving from John’s face. 

     “You look like you died three days ago.” Of course, he wasn’t apt at voicing his concern.  John glared up at him at that and mouthed the word ‘thanks’, deciding perhaps that Thomas wasn’t worth using his voice for. Thomas couldn’t blame him. He found himself wanting to cup John’s cheek in his hand, his arm moving subconsciously. He stopped it, resting it on the table as he leaned closer. “Are you feeling alright, John?” John shook his head, closing his eyes and letting his chin drop into his chest. A pang of worry and affection hit Thomas’s heart and he found himself inching closer. His arm moved again, only to gently press the back of his hand to John’s forehead. John’s eyes flickered open in surprise, but he didn’t protest. Thomas winced at the warmth against his hand, biting down on his lip. “John, you’re burning up…”

  
     John just gave a vague nod, closing his eyes again. He swallowed, visibly wincing in pain, then gave an exhausted sigh, his posture crumpling in his seat. “I thought I’d be feeling better by now,” he whispered, “But it only seems to be getting worse.” Thomas’ eyes widened when he realised his hand was still pressed to John’s forehead, though John didn’t seem to mind. He slowly pulled it away, the back of his hand gently caressing down John’s face, his knuckles lingering upon his cheekbone. Biting his tongue, Thomas quickly pulled it back into his lap. At the sudden disappearance of Thomas’ touch, John’s eyes opened again looking somewhat hurt, with an odd vulnerability that Thomas couldn’t recall ever having noticed before. Silently, John reached out and took Thomas’s hand from his lap, causing Thomas’ eyebrows to shoot up in momentary shock. John then opened Thomas’s fingers with his thumb and pressed his palm to his cheek, giving a gentle sigh and closing his eyes in relief. “Your hands are cold,” John whispered. Thomas’ cheeks flooded with warmth and nervousness boiled in the pit of his stomach.

  
     “Why are you here?” He asked quietly, “You should be at home…” He allowed his thumb to gently rub against John’s cheek. John didn’t express any visible emotion. If it weren’t for the rhythmic, shuddering rising and falling of his chest, Thomas’ would have thought he was dead.

  
     “I have to be here, Thomas,” he croaked almost inaudibly. “Do you know what our enemies would do to us if I wasn’t here to champion the cause of independence?” John’s eyebrows furrowed in discontent and Thomas couldn’t help but grin despite himself. Pathetically ill and barely able to speak, John still hadn’t changed a bit. Only now he was pouting like a child and desperately pressing Thomas’ hand to his cheek.

  
     “I’m sure the cause of independence can survive a couple of days without you,” Thomas said, almost unable to keep the humor out of his voice. The corners of John’s lips tugged downwards in a pout and his shoulders managed to slump even further. 

  
     “But what if-” he croaked, an uncharacteristic worry in his voice. Thomas leaned forward suddenly, placing his other hand on John’s shoulder. 

  
     “And even if you stay here, what good will it do? You can barely talk, and,” Thomas’ lips tilted upwards in a smirk, “I’m fairly sure that when I came over here you were asleep…” John’s cheeks went red and he folded his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, only to wince and then suddenly double over, coughing violently into his elbow. The smirk faded quickly from Thomas’ lips as his fingers gripped John’s shoulder tighter. When John seemed to recover somewhat, his eyes moved up to meet Thomas’, pathetically dull and worryingly vulnerable. Thomas stared at him for a moment. “Please, John,” he pleaded. “Come home with me.”

  
     “Home?” John asked, a bit taken aback, “With you?” Thomas scratched nervously at his cheek.

  
     “Well… I doubt you’ll be able to make it home on your own… and… I’m not sure it would be right to leave you on your own in such a state.” John continued to stare at him blankly, and Thomas started to feel an overwhelming desire to disappear. “Or something.” John’s eyes continued to bore into his own in a way that never failed to make Thomas painfully vulnerable. Empty, silent seconds seemed to drag on for hours.

  
     “Alright.” Thomas let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and felt all the more embarrassed for it. “Though,” John continued as he slowly pushed himself up from the table, “I do worry what Dickinson might do without either of us here…” Thomas watched in sympathy as John made an effort to stand, bracing himself against the table in another fit of coughs. Thomas gently, discreetly placed a hand on John’s back, between his shoulder blades, and the smaller man didn’t seem to mind, or was too miserable to pay him any notice. 

  
     “Well,” Thomas pondered, “We’ve got Franklin.” Thomas looked over at Franklin, who was passed out in a chair in the corner. His eyes wandered down to John who stared at Franklin with a mixture of exhaustion, strain, and perhaps contempt.

  
     “Wonderful,” John said dryly, and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. John glared up at him for a moment, before giving up, clearly too sick and miserable to bother with any strong feelings. Somewhat subconsciously, Thomas let his hand wander John’s back in gentle circles as the two walked out of the building. The light Spring breeze reminded Thomas to breathe as he lazily stared up at the endless expanse of cloudless blue sky. For once, the city didn’t smell of smoke and fish, only of pink blossoming trees and a vague sense of beginnings. 

  
     “The weather’s wonderful,” Thomas murmured quite obviously, “It’s a shame you’re feeling so poorly.” John waved a hand in indifference, tugging at his cravat uncomfortably.

  
     “I’m always sick this time of year,” he croaked, “Only I’m usually home with Abigail.” He gave a tired sigh, swinging his cane back and forth lazily. “Which tends to provide some… reprieve.” 

  
     “Well,” Thomas shrugged, sliding his hand up to rest on John’s shoulder, “I suppose you’ll have to make do with just me then.” John looked up at him with a smile and Thomas, for a brief moment, felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. John then looked away and Thomas turned his gaze towards the sky, his cheeks still decorated in a faint scarlet blush. 

  
     “Yes, I suppose I shall,” John murmured, before stopping in the street and breaking down into another sudden fit of coughs. Thomas’s eyes widened and, in a heightened moment of concern, pressed a hand to John’s chest, holding him close as John slowly dropped to his knees. 

  
     “John-!” Thomas went down to his knees beside him, his face suddenly stricken with concern.

  
     “I’m alright,” John gasped between coughs. Thomas held him closer to his chest, slowly rubbing a hand across his back. “I’m alright,” he repeated shakily as he slowly tried to stand up again, bracing himself with a fistful of Thomas’s coat. Thomas’s hands didn’t leave John’s body until John looked up at him again, with a dull confusion at the hand still pressed lightly to his chest. Thomas hurriedly pulled it back, tearing his eyes away from John’s.

  
     “We’re almost to my place, it’s not much farther,” Thomas murmured, his head ducked and his lips close to John’s ear. John didn’t respond, he simply stumbled along with his eyes half-closed and clung to Thomas desperately. 

     When they’d finally arrived at his apartment, Thomas’s arms were burning with the effort of supporting John, who now seemed entirely despondent as Thomas painfully attempted to help him up the stairs. John’s head laid pitifully against his shoulder, Thomas tried to pick him up, grunting when his back told him that would not be possible. 

  
     “You’ve got to help me out here, Mr. Adams,” Thomas panted, leaning heavily against the banister. 

  
     “Why does your apartment have so many steps? It’s ludicrous… architecturally insane…” John mumbled, becoming vastly more incoherent by the moment. A muscle twitched in Thomas’s jaw as he clenched his teeth together.

  
     “It’s a single flight, John,” He grunted, John’s arm around his shoulders as he pulled the smaller man up the stairs. 

  
     “Just leave me here, Thomas…” John slurred. Thomas’s eyebrows furrowed as he dragged John up another step. 

  
     “We’re almost halfway, now just-” He was cut off as John sneezed violently into his side. Thomas wished he’d just ignored him to begin with. How happy he’d be, sitting in his favorite window, absorbed in a book… He closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to calm down before he placed a hand on John’s waist, dragging him up another step. “We’re almost there, John, don’t worry.” Thomas could have sworn he heard a pitiful whine come from the smaller man, muffled against his coat. 

     Every muscle in Thomas’s body ached by the time he reached the top of the stairs, and he propped John up against the railing as he fished for the key, keeping his eyes on him nervously, worried that at any moment he might just collapse entirely. Finally, he clicked open the front door and helped John inside, one hand lightly on his hip. Thomas simply watched, a mixture of fatigue and amusement on his face, as John collapsed unceremoniously into his bed, not bothering to take off his coat and shoes. Thomas smiled as he quietly removed John’s shoes, then his own and shrugged off his coat. He let it fall to the floor in a heap as he sat down on the bed beside John, John’s face buried into the mattress. Thomas allowed one hand to travel the length of John’s back, before slowly beckoning for him to sit up. John did so with a pitiful groan, his eyes screwed shut against the light streaming in from the window. Thomas slowly pulled away John’s jacket, his fingers trailing John’s arms as he tried to pry him out of it. Thomas would have been annoyed, but something about John’s exhausted face, the fact that he seemed so much smaller when he was so vulnerable like this made Thomas endlessly patient. He dropped John’s coat onto the floor on top of his own and tugged away his cravat, before unbuttoning his waistcoat and dropping them all to the floor in an unceremonious heap.

  
     “Lie down, John,” He whispered, gently pushing John back down with one hand on his chest. He grabbed the blankets from the rumpled heap he’d left them in at the foot of the bed and brought them up to John’s chin before tucking a loose strand of hair behind John’s ear. As John mumbled something incoherently about his brain hurting, Thomas slowly undid the ribbon holding his hair together and watched as the dark brown locks spilled out over his pillow. He stared down at how John’s eyebrows furrowed in pain, and the feverish pink spreading across his cheeks. Biting the inside of his cheek, Thomas allowed his fingers to trail through John’s hair. 

  
     “My head hurts,” John croaked miserably into a pillow. “And my throat hurts. Literally every part of my body hurts, Thomas.” Thomas’s eyebrows raised in pity as his fingers wandered through the silky softness of John’s hair. “My brain hurts. How does my brain hurt?” A soft smile played on Thomas’s lips for a moment.

  
     “I don’t know, John. That must be terrible.”

  
     “It is.” 

  
     Thomas’s hand wandered back to John’s forehead, and he pressed the back of it to John’s skin. His smile quickly faded. “I think your fever’s getting worse…”

     “It is,” John repeated. Thomas chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. His hand ran across John’s back one last time before he stood up. John gave a pitiful whine but seemingly lacked the energy to protest further as Thomas grabbed a bowl from the bedside table and went outside, not bothering to close the door behind him. He walked half a block to the nearby water pump, zoning out and staring up at the sky as he filled the bowl with water. Such a clear, beautiful blue, he thought. The sky was so bright, it was quite unlike any other day he’d spent in Philadelphia. The color reminded him of something he couldn’t quite name.

  
     He was jolted out of his thoughts when the water started overflowing in the bowl, spilling out onto his hands. He shot upright with a gasp of surprise, the icy-coldness of it leaching into his sleeves. With a grimace he returned to his apartment, closing the door behind him and setting the bowl back down onto the table. John was still curled up but now he’d pulled the blankets over his head. Thomas smiled at him for a moment before rifling through a cupboard, searching for a familiar bottle of medicine. When he’d found both that and a bottle of brandy, he returned to the bed, sitting beside John and pouring the brandy into a tankard. He slowly pulled back the blanket, causing John to wince, though when John opened his eyes Thomas’s heart started hammering in his chest once more.  
  
     So that was what the color of the sky reminded him of.  
  
     Thomas blinked, steadying his hand when he noticed he’d almost dropped the mug in his surprise. “Here,” he croaked, his voice almost as weak as John’s, “Drink this. You’ll feel better.” John blinked groggily as he pushed himself up on his elbow.

  
     “Will I feel better or will I just stop feeling?” 

     Thomas grinned and handed John the mug. “Who knows?” John gave a pained smile and drained the tankard, collapsing back into his pillow when he was finished. Thomas felt something odd tugging at his heart as he watched pain flicker across the man’s face. If it was affection, he couldn’t tell. As John whimpered pathetically beside him, Thomas reached for the bowl of water and a cloth, pulling the bowl into his lap as he gently dabbed the damp cloth across John’s forehead. John trembled slightly and made a pained noise, covering his eyes with his hand. 

     “It’s cold…” John whimpered.

  
     “It will help your fever, John. Just try to rest.” Instead of resting, though, John moved his hand and opened one eye. 

  
     “You’re very good at this.”

  
     Thomas’s eyes met his for a brief second before they wandered back down to John’s chest.

  
     “At what?”

  
     “This. Taking care of people. It’s odd, for a man.” 

  
     Thomas chewed on the inside of his cheek as he brushed the damp cloth down John’s cheek, then down across his neck.

  
     “My wife gets ill rather often. I’m quite used to it.” 

  
     John nodded, letting his eyes fall shut again. After a few minutes of quiet, he gave a shuddering sigh. “Thomas, it hurts…” he croaked, his voice breaking. Thomas wanted to reprimand John for being so whiny, but again he found himself with nothing but a desperate desire to care for the man.

  
     “What hurts?” He asked quietly.

  
     “It would be easier to list the things that don’t hurt.” 

     Thomas smiled and rubbed the wet cloth against John’s chest. With his other hand, he brushed more loose strands of hair from John’s face, then placed the bowl and cloth back on the bedside table. He grabbed the small glass bottle of medicine, along with a small spoon. As he poured it out, Thomas’s nose wrinkled at the smell, bitter and acrid, and he was glad he wasn’t the one taking it. 

     “Sit up John,” He ordered quietly, the spoon in one hand and the other on John’s shoulder. John did so, questioningly, until his eyes fell upon the spoonful of medicine in Thomas’s hand. 

     “Medicine?” He asked quietly, wincing at the pain in his throat. Thomas nodded.

  
     “It should help if you don’t mind sleeping for twelve hours.” John gave a gentle nod and leaned forward to take it, only to reel back violently at the smell.

  
     “That is disgusting!” He cried hoarsely. Thomas’s eyebrows furrowed.

  
     “It will help. Take it.”

  
     “I will not.” John folded his arms over his chest in a defiant glare. In his mind, Thomas was still back at the statehouse, perched in his favorite window with his book. What he wouldn’t give to be there right now, he lamented silently. The two men glared at each other for what must have an entire minute, seemingly at an impasse. Neither made a sound until, in a resolved flash of courage, Thomas leaned forward and captured John’s lips in his own, feeling the smaller man tense under him. Thomas didn’t retreat though, even after his brain was screaming at him to reconsider what he was doing, until his tongue brushed against John’s teeth, kissing him with enough force that he knew his lips would be bruised come morning. Finally, when his lungs were burning, Thomas pulled away and, with John’s mouth agape in shock and asphyxiation, placed the spoonful of medicine in his mouth.

  
     John cringed, but Thomas placed a hand over his mouth and forced him to swallow it. John’s eyes met his with a bitter contempt and Thomas couldn’t help but smile, feeling awfully smug and self-satisfied. “That wasn’t too bad, was it, Mr. Adams?”

     Still breathing rather heavily, John slowly pried Thomas’s hand from his mouth. Thomas sat silently, waiting for some scathing rebuttal.   
“...Virginians,” John muttered after a moment’s silence. Thomas laughed quietly and placed a hand on John’s chest, against his skin, and pushed him back down onto the bed. Thomas had moved to get up when he felt a strong grip against his wrist. He looked down to see John staring back up at him, his round eyes lacking any of their earlier menace and instead filled entirely with a desperate longing. Thomas’s lips parted slightly, but he was unsure of what to say. “Please stay,” John begged quietly, his voice cracking painfully. “Stay with me.” After a moment’s hesitation, Thomas smiled again and lowered himself back down into the bed, curling up on his side to face John with one hand on the man’s waist. It wouldn’t be too long until the drugs had taken hold, and he realized he’d have to deal with having John in his bed all night. He decided it might not be so bad. 

  
     The medicine had taken effect much more quickly than Thomas had anticipated, and he presumed the cause was John’s diminutive stature. 

     “Thomas,” John slurred, already a bit out of it, “I love you. You’re so handsome… and- and lovely. I love you.” He trailed off into a yawn. A smile twitched on the corners of Thomas’s lips.

  
     “Go to sleep, John,” Thomas murmured, brushing his fingers through John’s hair. John screwed his eyes shut in discontent, squirming closer to Thomas and hugging himself to his chest. 

  
     “Not until you say it too,” he mumbled, his face buried into Thomas’s shirt. Thomas grinned, his heart alight with a jittery sort of affection. Thomas pressed a kiss to John’s warm forehead, then buried his nose into his hair, closing his eyes in his familiar scent.

  
     “I love you too, John…”   


* * *

 

  
     That next morning Thomas awoke with a fierce headache to the point that he could barely open his eyes without whimpering in pain. His throat only hurt more and he desperately kicked off his blankets, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

  
     “Good morning, Thomas,” he heard from beside him. Despite his headache, John’s voice brought him some sort of reprieve from his pain. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling too well?” Thomas dropped his arm back onto the bed, glaring up at John. He almost couldn’t; John’s gentle smile and warm eyes almost stopped him from feigning his frustration.

  
     “Yes,” Thomas croaked, “And it’s all your fault.” John laughed quietly and Thomas couldn’t help but smile.

  
     “If I recall, you were the one who kissed me.”

  
     “Well, you’re the one who demanded I cuddle you.”

  
     “Jefferson, it’s your bed!” 

     Thomas laughed despite the pain in his throat and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, pulling him down beside him. “Well, then I suppose you’ll just have to return the favor.”


End file.
